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The Unforgiven: LukeXAnnabeth Fanfic
Luke Castellan woke up feeling like his entire body had been singed. His forehead throbbed with an invisible pain, and his eyes felt like hot water. He groaned in discomfort and sat up in bed, feeling the soft cushions underneath him. He rubbed his face forlornly, his fingers feeling like lead. Dropping his hands down, he glanced around at where he was. The room around him was dark, and had wooden floorboards and walls. Dusty antiques lined the old rickety shelves on the walls, and two unused brooms were propped up against the corner of the room. Luke was sitting in a white mattress on an old hammock, which swung lightly every time he moved. Strangely, he felt like he knew this place. He searched his mind for where he could be—dusty, old, unused, badly-kept, antique, wooden, smells like old socks…the Big House! Luke hadn’t been here in a long time—ever since he betrayed Camp Half-Blood, he was pretty sure he wasn’t allowed back in there. He felt the arm that he stabbed himself in to kill Kronos (and ultimately, himself) and yelped in pain when he touched the wound. He didn’t expect Chiron and the entirety of Camp Half-Blood to forgive him for all he’d done and actually heal him, but it was apparently the case. His entire body felt pained, so he knew for sure that his invulnerability gained from the River Styx was gone. Perhaps it had faded away when he stabbed himself, or perhaps the camp didn’t want him waking up invulnerable within their boundaries in case he still had Kronos inside of him, and ended up trashing the entire place. He tried getting up, but his feet hurt badly, so he just lay back down again. He felt serious guilt and regret for joining Kronos, and he hoped no serious damage had been done on the camp. It was the least he could do. And, as much as he hated his father, he really hoped Hermes was okay. Sighing, he tried closing his eyes again, but sleep didn’t come to him as easily. Instead he lay on his side contemplating what had happened silently, when the sound of footsteps drummed outside the room. Luke half-hoped that the person coming up was coming to kill him—to put him out of his pain and misery. But he would have no such luck. The door to the guest room slipped open with unsteady creaks as a girl younger than Luke entered. She had blonde hair fixed in a ponytail, and stormy gray eyes that seemed to take in everything. She wore a green blazer over a striped long-sleeve, and a loose Yankees cap was shoved down her jeans pocket. A celestial bronze knife was tucked carefully in her side. A silver tray of small, honey-golden squares—ambrosia—and a copper goblet filled with clear, gold liquid—nectar—rested firmly on her palms. Luke was so surprised to see her, he was speechless. He watched as the girl cautiously walked towards the hammock, as if it would blow up into confetti any second. She placed the tray on a three-legged stool besides the hammock that Luke hadn’t noticed before. Her gray eyes scanned Luke for a second before she turned around to leave, a look of disappointment showing clearly on her face. Gathering his very few wits left, Luke finally managed to speak, knowing it was now or never. “Annabeth..?” The blonde froze in her tracks at the sound of her name. Then she whirled around, unsheathed her knife, and angled it at Luke as if she dared him to move. Her face was one of pure shock. “Y-your—your awake!” She stammered, her legs buckling and her arms trembling. Luke groaned and sat up, blinking wearily. He was taken aback at the sight of her knife. “Yeah.” He mumbled. “You could put the knife down, Annabeth. I won’t attack you.” The teenager didn’t look convinced, but lowered it anyway. “I need to tell Chiron..,” She whispered loud enough to hear. “Wait right here. Don’t go anywhere.” The knife-wielder began backing up towards the door, not turning her back towards Luke or taking her eyes off him, and then swung open the door and dashed out, slamming it shut behind her. The click of the lock told Luke that she clearly bolted and locked the door, in fear he would escape and wreck havoc or whatever. No way they would trust him ever again, not that Luke blamed them. He grimaced and looked at the tray of ambrosia and nectar sitting next to him. He could have some, in order to cease his constant pains. Picking up the copper goblet, her sipped a bit of nectar into his mouth. The liquid soothed him, and tasted like honey-coated chocolate melted in the sun. He felt his aches fade away, and grimly relaxed back into the hammock. He would definitely not take anymore, because as much as the divine food could heal demigods, taking too much was deadly bad for them. He glanced down and realized for the first time he was wearing his old Camp Half-Blood orange T-shirt, though he didn’t know how they got him into it. He wore the same jeans he had on when he wounded himself, and all the armor he had been wearing then was off. He was pretty sure his sword, Backbiter, which had been forged into Kronos’s new scythe, had been confiscated and destroyed as soon as the camp got their hands on it. They didn’t want a cruel reminder of the Second Titan War and what they had lost in it. Luke turned in the hammock, and glanced out of the room’s small dust-ridden window. It was on the other side of the room, with boxes and crates piled up around it like shields. He forced himself up, and immediately felt a jolting pain in his left leg. He groaned in discomfort, and proceeded limping with his right foot. His left leg must have been hurt badly to not have been healed completely by the nectar he took. After he reached the window, he rested his arms on the sill, supporting himself against it. He got a clear view of outside the Big House and the strawberry fields it was situated by. A plump man with curly black hair, Dionysus, was standing next to a man that had the body of a white stallion waist-down, Chiron. Annabeth, the girl who’d visited him before, was talking to them urgently, wringing her hands as if she was stressed. A black-haired teen with sea-blue eyes was a few inches behind her, looking as if he had sat on a pin. It was Percy Jackson himself, and he was listening to Annabeth’s story with shock. The four were outside the Big House, looking pretty nervous. He uneasily watched a boy that was half-goat and half-human, Grover the satyr, walk over to the group along with a green-skinned, elfish girl who Luke hadn’t met yet, and a familiar bulky girl wielding a spear, Clarisse. Two more kids came, one of which had formerly worked for Kronos, Chris Rodriguez. The other kid had dark, shaggy hair and bangs that shadowed his eyes. His skin was ghostly pale, and a black iron sword hung at his side. Luke guessed dreadfully which god the boy belonged to. The group was followed by some other kids from the cabins, who looked as nervous as they. In pairs, they began entering the Big House. Giving Luke just what he needed; visitors. And yes, he meant that sarcastically. ******* 'Longer than I expected, but hey, who doesn’t like Luke? ' '(a million people raises their hands). Hey, at least I like him, you bunch ‘o haters. Just kidding, (: ' 'Anyway, the next chapter is from Annabeth’s point of view. I’ll get on that right away, and if I finish quickly, It’ll be posted within the next two days. Requests for other pairings I should do are open. BYEEE!! '